A Story of One Mother by Mary Martin

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · May 25, 1882

A Story of One Mother.

By Mary Martin

BY MARY MARTIN.

A century ago, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson found a home among the mountains and forests of New Hampshire. They had come from a town in the vicinity of Boston, and although "the flood of years" has wrought great changes in that, and suburban towns, it was a great change to little Lucy Lee when the neat cottage and green fields were lost in the log cabin that occupied the only land that had yet been redeemed from the "forest primeval." As the years passed, fields of waving grain and golden maize clad the hills and valleys, where towering trees had once stood. A comfortable house occupied the original site of the log cabin, and a fine young orchard gave promise of delicious fruit. Occasionally a bear from the neighboring mountains had committed depredations within the inclosure, but for the most part, prosperity had attended the efforts of these worthy, industrious people. Two fine boys had come to brighten the home, but the little daughter slept in a quiet spot not far from the farmhouse door. Five years had come and gone since the little light went out, and often, still, did the mother's eyes wander from her spinning or weaving to the tiny mound that had been raised above her treasure. Time, who knows no waiting, went on. The years were filled with unremitting, honest toil, and prosperity. Was it not prosperity?

By reason of sacrifice and planning, not only had many substantial comforts been added to the home, but the sons had received a better education than others whose circumstances were apparently quite as favorable. The mother had inherited the fine appreciation of intellectual advantages that characterized the early settlers of New England, and she resolvedthat whatever sacrifice of personal comfort might be involved, her children should have the best facilities for mental culture that could be afforded them. The village pastor was a learned man, and for a consideration (that was thought to be very exhorbitant), proposed to recive as pupils such of the young people of his parish as wished to avail themselves of better opportunities than the district schools afforded.

The progress which Charles and Harry Thompson made in their studies was very gratifying to their parents. At length their ambition reached beyond the limits of the farm, to the fascinating, wide world in the distance. When they made known their desire to seek employment in the city, the fond parents felt that they ought to be willing to forego the pleasure of their society, and cheerfully submit to such inconvenience as might be necessary to secure their children's advancement.

Charles left home one autumn after the harvesting was done, and Harry the next, a little earlier in the season. Mothers know what these experiences cost. It may seem a small thing to put four pairs of socks, four shirts, a few handkerchiefs, and a new suit of clothes into a little leather-covered trunk; but not only a mother's loving hands carded, and spun, and woven, and sewed or knit every stitch, but something of more priceless value has been added to the small collection. Who can estimate a mother's prayers and tears?

It was lonely at the farm; but if the eyes sometimes filled with tears, as they fell upon the well-worn school-books, or the little frocks and trousers so carefully folded and laid away in the chest, no word of complaint or regret ever escaped the lips.

The habits of strict business integrity in which the young men had been trained both by precept and example, insured them good situations, and their native energy and ambition secured promotion and success. It was very gratifying to the parents in the old home to receive tidings that their children were "doing well." It compensated for many a heart-ache, and many a sacrifice.

When after six years' absence the sons came home to spend a week, bringing their young brides, one in the beautiful spring-time, the other in the golden autumn, they were welcomed with the most sincere pleasure, and pardonable pride. If the sons sometimes blushed at the parents' antiquated pronunciation, and forms of expression, and the daughters were somewhat reserved and haughty, it was generally attributed to "the new city ways." A mother's mantle of charity was found sufficiently broad to cover all.

It was very evident that the aroma of apple and clover blooms, and the gorgeous autumnal tints were inadequate to compensate either daughter, to them, objectionable features of farm-life. A week soon passes, and if there had been a shadow of disappointment, there was also a shade of relief at its close.

Truly has it been said, "Time and tide wait for no man." The silver hair and bowed forms plainly indicated that Mr. and Mrs. Thompson had passed the Summit House, and were far on their way to Sunset Land. But "a reaper," with his sickle keen," met them by the way, and a woman's weary form was seen passing the last milestones alone.

It was found that Mr. Tompson had died insolvent—that his name, given to aid a friend, had debarred him from all right of ownership to the broad and fertile acres—that nothing remained of all the years of toil but what the four walls of the house inclosed.

When it was decided that the house must be vacated, and that it was "best mother should go to a neighbor's to board" for a stipulated sum which was to be remitted by the sons, and when she found herself in the one small room that was henceforth to be considered hers—then she felt that she was, indeed, alone.

A heart so kind and tender as hers had ever been, and hands that had ministered readily and lovingly to others' need, could never meet with cold neglect in the neighborhood where she had been known so long and well; and she still found reason to return thanks to the Giver of all good.

In a few years, Charlie, who lived in an adjoining State, wrote his mother to come and make her home with him.

In addition to her wearing apparel, she took her fine bedding, all of which had been manufactured by her own skill and industry, together with such heir-looms of silver-ware as she possessed, and accompanied by a friend, took her first ride on the cars.

But a few months had passed when it became evident that the mother was considered a burden rather than a blessing, in the fashionable city home. Sweet, serene, and heavenly-minded—a treasure that should have been highly prized in many a family circle—when the truth forced its way to her already sorrow-stricken heart, no words could express her anguish.

When it was suggested that she should go back and board with the family she had left, she uttered no word, but quietly gathered her small wardrobe (she was permitted to take nothing more of all she had brought), and alone retraced her weary way.

A few years passed, but the regular remittances which had heretofore arrived promptly, failed to come. The sons were interviewed by letter, but there was no response. It came to be understood that they no longer considered themselves responsible for any bills contracted by their mother. The neighbors could scarcely repress their indignation, and such was the universal esteem for the more than widowed mother, that, although dependent upon the town for her support, no word was ever whispered to her of the situation.

But sickness and death entered the family circle, of which she was a member, and the new Board decided that she must be removed to an adjoining town. It was a trying ordeal for a person of her years and bodily infirmity, but she silently submitted to the inevitable. During the journey, a person more noted for volubility than fine feeling, apprised her of the fact that her sons no longer met her bills, but that it was a town expense. When convinced that such was the case, it was too much for the aching heart and silvered head, and they bowed beneath the stroke. She would sit for hours with folded hands, and a far-off asking look in the faded eyes, softly repeating her sons' names, adding, "No, no, you could never do that." A few months sufficed to complete the sad story, and the recording angel had closed the book.

I was visiting in the place at the time, and my hostess was called to assist in performing the last sad offices for the dead. When the bell pealed forth in solemn tones from the country village church, I could but experience a feeling of relief that so much of suffering as that one life had held, had ended at last. Telegrams were sent to the sons in their respective homes, but neither appeared at the funeral. No kindred eyes wept over the placid face as the coffin lid was closed, and stranger hands lowered the plain casket that inclosd the precious jewel. Surely he who buried his servant on "Nebo's lonely mountain," has marked the sacred spot, and "when the graves are opened," will remember and claim his own. "Every man's work shall be made manifest; for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is."